Operation: Doomsday
by Monstropolous
Summary: All it takes is a change of mindset or a more open mind and nothing is the same.


A/N: This is a bit of an experiment. We'll see if it goes anywhere.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any sort of manga/anime material.

* * *

Operation: Doomsday

by Monstropolous

"I know you love that experimentation shit," Orochimaru took a deep breath. The things he did for his, well, former teammates, but Jiraiya may not know that as of yet. "But I never understood why you would want to look like any animal, let alone a snake."

"I didn-"

"And how long did it take you to figure all that out? Did you start with the face or something and-"

"You are so aggravati-"

"Or maybe it's a symbolism thing like those novels Sensei used to make me read to make me 'more cultured'? I guess trying to look like a snake makes sense, because after getting to know you anyone would realize that YOU'RE A GIANT DICK!"

"No, you complete and total moron, I inherited these traits because of my contract!"

"Suuuure, blame the cooontract!" Jiraiya's smile had expanded from ear to ear.

"Would you fucking shut up for a second?!"

Jiraiya's eyes widened as his mouth closed with an audible 'click'. His teammate was never one to swear without reason; in fact, he deemed swearing below himself. The only times he would indulge in certain words would be after an extreme amount of alcohol or when under great stress, especially when being outclassed in a combat situation. Jiraiya couldn't smell alcohol anywhere nearby, so he knew there was a problem.

"What happened?" Jiraiya had switched from what Orochimaru had nicknamed 'the moron' to 'the professional'. He widened his stance slightly as he surreptitiously channeled chakra to a seal sown into the inner right side of his haori to dispel any genjutsu in the area then did the same to the sensor seal below it. Not sensing anything, he did not let his guard down. His seals had malfunctioned and been fooled before, after all.

Orochimaru stared at him, debating what to say. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened his mouth again. If he was honest with himself, Jiraiya was his best friend. He decided to tell the whole truth.

"Two days ago, I was banished from Konoha."

* * *

Once upon a time, a boy and his parents lived happily together on the outskirts of a village. The village was new; a loose alliance of clans and guilds cobbled together into something that could break apart any moment. Outsiders coveted the movement for large scale profitable collaboration. Sabotage and guerrilla warfare became an everyday occurrence. The boy only knew that another village had killed his parents, one day. They had killed his favorite classmates, they had even killed his favorite tea shop manager down the street, the same one that waved and tossed a small cookie at him every morning on his way to school.

The boy decided then that life was precious. Life was worth living, and he wanted to live. He wanted his friends to live. But people were cruel by nature. The boy sat by his parents' graves and explained all of this to them. He wanted to abolish war, conflict. Nobody should have to die unless they wanted to. And who wants to die?

The boy watched a colorful little bird trilled a song on a tree branch. He looked past the bird at Konoha's Tower. He looked back in time to see a snake snatch up the bird, fangs entering its head as the snake's coils wrapped around the body, containing its death throes. Nature, he decided, was cruel as well. And he spoke his mind to the inscriptions of his parents' names.

A thin white snake poked its head above the conjoined gravestones. It stared at the boy. And it began to speak. The boy would have the support of the snake family, it hissed. But if he were to exploit the family as he diverged from his path, they would no longer do so. The boy shed blood, and a contract was signed. Years later, the boy went to war.

I was blessed by a snake, you see. You were blessed by a toad, and Tsunade was blessed by the slugs. We were mocked endlessly by our superiors, those nameless ninja that held rank above our own. 'The Misfit Trio', they called us. I'm sure you remember. Then we proved to be powerful in our own rights, and the power of respect turned derision to envy.

The pride was ours. The talent was ours. The knowledge was bestowed upon us by our teacher.

The Professor, they call him. The God of Shinobi. Please. The former only fits when you know his face to be situated above a desk full of papers. The God of Shinobi is much more accurate – a reactionary mercenary who does what needs doing for a price. He didn't see the big picture-doesn't see the big picture. What is that, you ask?

Well, quite simply, the Elemental Territories, as we know them, are barely 5 percent of the world. We squabble over nothing, we fight over the rights to our own grains of sand in the playground while 300 miles away from us there dwell 8 completely alien civilizations, all advanced in certain ways but above what we know. Just the tip of the sword, and we can't even fathom _that._

I'm getting ahead of myself. Waitress, another bottle. And two orders of chicken skewers, please.

I've surpassed our teacher, Jiraiya. It's been that way for a very long time. He can break down a technique to its base components, he can lead a village, a country to war and have them die happily for him, but I've surpassed him in other ways. So many taboos and restrictions put in place by Sensei's teacher… he's taken it upon himself to enforce the so called Scroll of Law from the first Hokage without questioning why it was put there. I broke the rules. I've opened various Gates, Doorways, quiet corners of other dimensions, even travelled the world to see what was there, to understand _why_.

You were always the romantic. No, I'm not hitting on you, you imbecile. I'd sooner hit on the bottle of sake here than you. You were always the romantic. Forbidden love and all that sort of literary plot device. You know exactly why I went against Konoha's Scroll of Law, and for all I know you've done the same.

No, this isn't about not being accepted as Hokage. Your student is much better suited for that role. He's overly charismatic to the point that people will give up their unborn children for-

I don't want to discuss those Ame children. Even if they manage to influence some small modicum of that ridiculous village they are an utter nonfactor to me.

Anyway. This is what happened last week.

* * *

"Orochimaru, you cannot experiment on these children." Sarutobi Hiruzen was very used to getting his way. After all, he was the leader of an entire village of killers. If something didn't make sense to you, citizen, that was _your_ problem. If he didn't like something you were doing, he would stop you one way or another. He might be nice the first time, but by the second or third time you might end up missing for a few weeks or forever, depending on how dire the situation was.

The benevolent Philosopher King, they called him. I had a number of other names I call him in the privacy of my own head, none nearly so flattering.

We were arguing over the experimentation of children. Experimentation on children, you say? What kind of monster would do such a thing? No, these were the children of infiltrators, of traitors, those deemed useless to the village society. These were the expendable children that I had spirited off rather than dispose of as ordered, as well as some convicts fresh from the Interrogation Division that had no other information of value. I am not unnecessarily cruel; I sedate or seal before I do what needs doing. Ignore the propaganda that has undoubtedly been placed onto flyers and the like. Everything I've done would have been done by the Roots' Roots' Roots or whatever they're calling the Black Research Division these days, as you well know.

"He desecrates corpses". Did you realize the Second Hokage knew how to resurrect the dead, albeit imperfectly? No? They don't teach that fact in schools, you know. Our teacher knows how this technique works too, but he refuses to even consider letting me experiment and improve it. Why not resurrect Dan or Nawaki at the cost of a known traitor's life?

Fine, you're still hung up on her. I get it. Eat your food. We can continue our discussion over breakfast.

* * *

A/N: Oh, and the title's a(n unfitting) tribute to MF Doom's album. Go listen to it.


End file.
